The Boat Story
by LemonHatshepsut
Summary: For my ETERNALLY patient friend, a few years late. Happy Birthday, my Toni!


"Antonio, love, are you coming?" Arthur called out to the Spaniard, squinting into the afternoon sun to try to spot the other nation.

"Un momento," Antonio answered, waving excitedly from the beach, clambering up into their lifeguard chair to deposit a sun umbrella and tote bag in the seat.

He then leapt back down into the sand, still holding a pair of folded beach towels and two pairs of flip flops, which he wadded up together and tossed the short distance into the sloop Arthur was currently standing on. Arthur tried to catch the bundle, but luckily was not too embarrassed when he missed by nearly half a metre, because Antonio had already waded into the ocean and was focusing on keeping his footing rather than watching his English lover. Arthur settled for making it look like grabbing the rigging had been his intention all along so that when the Spanish nation glanced up at him before waving cheerfully and diving beneath the waves, he wouldn't look like too great a fool.

Antonio surfaced beside the boat moments later, and Arthur hurried over to the side to take his hand and haul him up into the sailboat. It was difficult work for the Brit, and Antonio did most of said work himself, otherwise he probably would not have made it into the boat at all.

Once he was aboard, Arthur took a moment to simply watch the Spaniard dart from place to place, tying off a knot here, adjusting another one there. Arthur knew he was being idle by failing to assist in readying the ship for departure, something he had once vowed never to do while at sea, for the sheer love of sailing. But this... he thought, this took precedence. He loved Antonio... perhaps even more than the sea; and besides, they could not be more than ten metres from shore. Being idle now would not harm anything.

His idleness was short-lived, however, as he noticed Antonio struggling with the knot tied around the port gunwhale, anchoring them to shore. The end of the line was attached to a large conveniently shaped rock on the beach, and Arthur had secured the line to the gunwhale himself when they had left the boat here the previous night after checking it over.

He crouched down beside the other nation and took over the task, pecking Antonio on the cheek as he did so. "I've got it love, go on and check the shrouds, why don't you?"

Antonio nodded, beaming with a radiance that Arthur thought could outshine the stars. "Okay, gracias amor," he hummed, nuzzling Arthur's cheek briefly before standing and striding the short distance required to do so.

The Brit simply grinned, deftly undoing the knot securing their vessel to solid land, and lay back on the deck. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation of bobbing on a ship floating unrestrained in the tide. How the floor shifted beneath him constantly, and the rushing sound of the waves crashing against the beach assaulted his ears. How the seagulls all called noisily for loose pickings on the shore, and the bells on the buoys further out to sea rang serenely with each wave they bobbed over. The tang of salt in the air stimulated his olfactory glands on the way in, and tickled his throat on the way out. Oh, good lord, he had missed the sea.

"Arturo?" Antonio's voice sounded from above him, tone a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Is there a reason you're lying on the deck?"

Green eyes flicked open to look up into the Spaniard's face, and the British nation smiled fondly, shaking his head. "No, no reason. Help an old git up, will you?" He asked, extending an arm to reach up towards the still dripping wet nation.

"Okay," Antonio grinned and took Arthur's proffered arm, easily pulling the blond to his feet, and pecking him on the cheek as he did so. "Whatever you say, amor. Shall we head out?"

"Absolutely," Arthur nodded, brushing sand from the back of his trousers. "I'll set us windward for long enough to set us properly out to sea, and then let us drift. I can smell a storm coming from the same direction as the wind, so I want to be far away from any other ships when it catches up, so we don't take any real damage. Sound good?"

"Perfecto," the Spanish nation agreed. "I'll cook something for us belowdecks while you do that, okay?"

"Marvelous, that's just marvelous, love," Arthur smiled, leaning in to kiss Antonio's nose. "I look forward to it. Make sure you finish before that storm catches up to us though, I don't fancy the idea of cleaning up the whole cabin if the food were to spill when we hit the rough waves."

Antonio grinned and opened the hatch, then retreated belowdecks, snatching up the towels and flip flops on his way down to store them in the safety of the cabin. "Of course, amor, nothing too complicated. I promise."

"Mmhm. I'll hold you to that, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, don't you think that I won't," Arthur warned, with no bite at all in his tone. The Spaniard merely waved him off, ignoring his lover in favor of stepping fully into the cabin and shutting the hatch behind him.

Arthur shook his head bemusedly, merely staring at the patch of deck his partner had disappeared into moments earlier, lost in thought. Antonio was a gift from the heavens. Kind, caring, entertaining, adorable, a bloody fantastic chef, hot as hell, and all Arthur's. What more could he have possibly asked for?

On the other hand, Arthur had absolutely no idea what compelled Antonio to love him so much. He had practically begged Antonio to leave him on several occasions already, after massive rows or immense misunderstandings, failing to understand how such a fantastic catch like Spain could bear to be tied down to a miserable nation like him, England. Each time, Antonio had staunchly refused, and found himself unable to vocalize what, exactly, it was about Arthur that made him perfect, but always insisting that the Brit was, in fact, perfect, and Antonio would never leave him.

But Arthur was being diverted from his intended course of action by such depressing and frustrating thoughts, and he knew it. "Time to focus, old chap," he murmured to himself. He was no more likely to solve that particular universal mystery today than any other day, and he had told Antonio he planned to set their vessel out to sea, so that's exactly what he would do.

Arthur closed his eyes and waited for the magnitude of his other sensations to increase. He could tell the general direction the wind was coming from, but to ensure the most speed, he wanted the most air to be caught by the sails. He turned and let the wind bluster against his back for a moment. He then twisted slightly to the left, until he could feel the wind tickle the outside of his ear. He twisted back in the other direction until the ticklish sensation was balanced, and opened his eyes. So this was the precise direction of the wind. Perfect.

Arthur adjusted the sails and tied them off to other sections of the deck before flipping the hatch open and stepping down into the cabin, shutting it firmly behind himself. "All set, love," he declared, turning to face Antonio.

The Spaniard paused in his task of pouring oil into a frying pan and smiled. "Bueno, go ahead and sit down somewhere, I don't want anything to spill on you if we hit a wave."

Arthur merely nodded, and slipped behind Antonio to get to the bed tucked away in the back of the small cabin, brushing his hand along the Spanish nation's backside as he did so. Antonio turned to give Arthur a chastising look, but was too flushed to seem chastising at all. Arthur grinned, winking at Antonio, and then grinned even wider as his flush only deepened.

"Not while I'm cooking, amado..." Antonio protested faintly.

"Not even a little…?" Arthur asked, turning and splaying himself out on the bed coyly.

Antonio pursed his lips, frowning down at the Englishman. "No, not even a little. Let me finish, amor."

Arthur sighed, rolling onto his back and closing his eyes. "Oh, very well…" He cracked an eye open and watched Antonio move about the tiny cabin, swaying his hips rhythmically. "Mmn…"

"Dinner is served."

Arthur sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Hm…? Antonio?" He looked about the cabin, but there was no one in sight. There wasn't any food either. It had sounded like Antonio's voice, but…

"Yes, master?" The voice, meek sounding, and yet unquestionably Antonio's voice, came from the floor.

Arthur leaned forward and looked over the edge of the bed, only to recoil in shock upon seeing someone laying prostrate on the floor, back crossed with what looked like whip scars. "What-? Who are you? Where is Antonio?"

The figure on the ground sat up slowly, keeping his face down. "I… am Antonio, master… is everything alright…?"

Arthur looked around the cabin again, and scrambled backwards on his bed until his back hit the wall. He hadn't even realized. He was back on his pirate ship, the Union Jack. There was his desk, full of maps of the seven seas, and the room was lit by candle. Something seemed very wrong here. Aside from Antonio, his rival captain… now apparently his slave.

"What year is it? Where are we?" Arthur demanded, rolling over his bed and tipping off the opposite side, rolling onto the balls of his feet and picking up a dagger from the windowsill.

"It is the year 1600… and I believe we are somewhere north of English Spain…?" Antonio sounded confused, and actually looked up at Arthur this time.

Arthur recoiled. His face was riddled with even more scars than his back. "What happened to you…?"

Antonio looked confused. "I… I do not understand. Master… your dinner is getting cold…"

"No," Arthur said, backing up to the wall. This was wrong. He knew this was wrong. Antonio wasn't his… his slave! And what did he mean, English Spain? That wasn't a place! This was all wrong! Antonio wasn't his slave, he was supposed to be his—

"Love."

"Pardon me… master…?" Antonio looked somewhat frightened now.

"You're not my slave, you're my love… I love you. Te amo! Don't you understand?"

Antonio shook his head, staring at Arthur, uncomprehending. "You… forbade me from speaking Spanish, m-master…"

Arthur dropped to the ground, shaking his head. "No, no no no…"

"…no, no…"

"…turo… Arturo…? Amado, wake up…"

"Huh wha-?" Arthur sat bolt upright, groaning as his forehead collided with something hard. "Ouch…"

Antonio sat up and rubbed his own forehead, looking concerned. "Lo siento, but it seemed like you were having a nightmare…"

Arthur rubbed his eyes and put a hand to his own head. "Oh, I'm so sorry, love, I didn't mean to—are you alright?" Arthur reached up to run his fingers over the reddening blotch on his lover's forehead, then licked his thumb and began scrubbing. "Here, just let me…"

Antonio's hands came up and wrapped around Arthur's wrists, pulling them down and into his lap. "I'm fine, amor, really. Are you alright? You were crying out… I was just about to wake you up for dinner anyway. I tried waiting, but it's started to storm, so I thought…"

Arthur shook his head. "Oh, oh yes, of course… that was a very good idea, love… did I really doze off…?"

Antonio smiled and nodded, leaning in to kiss Arthur on the cheek. "Si, amado. It was very cute. I really didn't want to wake you. Until you seemed… less than peaceful…"

"Oh, no, you did right, love, thank you. I was… having a nightmare." He looked Antonio over, making sure that this Antonio was not the one from his dream. He wasn't. Arthur drew him into his arms. "I love you so much… you know that, right…?"

Antonio seemed surprised, but hugged Arthur back after a moment. "Are you sure you're alright, amado…?"

Arthur nodded firmly, holding Antonio closer. "Yes. Yes, I am. Everything is just as it should be." After several minutes, he stood, and stretched, then sniffed the air. "Bloody hell, that smells delicious."

Antonio beamed and stood up behind Arthur, wrapping his arms around the Englishman's chest. "Gracias, Arturo! I made paella. But don't worry, I brought enough ingredients to make paella a few times this trip, only the next ones will probably be seafood."

Arthur turned in Antonio's arms and kissed him firmly on the lips. "I love your cooking." He tucked his face in Antonio's neck and inhaled deeply. "I love your skin, I love your smell…" Antonio chuckled, and Arthur straightened up and kissed him soundly on the lips. "I love your lips… I love your eyes… I love you." He stared straight into Antonio's eyes as he got down on one knee, and reached into his pocket. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo…" Antonio gasped as Arthur pulled a small, green velvet box out of his pocket. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?"

Antonio flung himself into Arthur's arms as he stood, nodding enthusiastically as his eyes began to water. "Si, oh Arturo, si, si, si!"

Arthur beamed, holding Antonio close and peppering his face with kisses. "O-Oh, good, I wa-wasn't sure…"

"You weren't sure?" Antonio laughed, squeezing Arthur's arms. "Arturo, I've been waiting for this! Te amo, I love you so much!"

"I love you too," Arthur whispered, burying his face in Antonio's neck, inhaling his fiancé's scent. "More than anything in the world."


End file.
